A Surprisingly Articulate Padfoot
by kaleidoscope-eyes94
Summary: It is November, and it is raining, and for reasoning unbeknownst to him, Remus is being forcibly marched across what feels like the entirety of the Hogwarts grounds by one Sirius Black


A Surprisingly Articulate Padfoot

It is November, and it is raining, and for reasoning unbeknownst to him, Remus is being forcibly marched across what feels like the entirety of the Hogwarts grounds by one Sirius Black.

'Sirius, is there any chance that you'll be letting me in on this batshit craziness that you appear to be possessed by any time soon?'

Remus asks this question with little hope for a revealing, or even coherent, answer.

'Hush, Moony; the night is calling!'

Right; well that clears everything up, doesn't it? But Remus is Remus, and he'd follow Sirius to the ends of the earth if he asked and so he keeps up the pace and attempts to ignore the pelting rain that's stinging his cheeks. Remus always seems to do whatever Sirius asks of him, but he never really understands why.

Only fifteen minutes ago saw Sirius come bounding into the dormitory with a twig in his hair and mud on his cheeks – a situation that Remus did not even bat an eyelid at; living with Sirius for so long necessitates a strong sense of patience – demanding that Remus accompany him somewhere. Remus had heaved an instantaneous put-upon sigh; James was somewhere basking in Lily's reluctant affection, and Peter had somehow convinced a Hufflepuff girl that he was worth at least one date, and so he was alone in his battle. Remus' protests were futile and it only took a further minute of Sirius' energy to convince Remus' compliance.

Sirius lacks in conversational skills; he neglects the what, the where and the why – things that society deems fairly essential for general discussions. Sirius believes these intricacies to be lexical demons – semantic Dementors, if you will – and prefers to proceed without them; an idiosyncrasy Remus hasn't the willpower to break Sirius out of.

Remus can barely make out the Padfoot-shaped entity that strides before him, and he struggles to keep up with the boundless bundle of energy that is Sirius On A Mission. Sirius On A Mission is the most insufferable Sirius of them all – and that is sayingsomething – but somehow Remus finds it, for want of a better word, _endearing_.

When Remus sees Sirius being passionate about something, he stomach swirls, but he doesn't really understand why. Remus chooses to ignore the things he doesn't understand – a bad habit picked up somewhere along the way from Prongs or some such sod – and so this unpleasant swirling is a daily occurrence that he refuses to either acknowledge or articulate.

Suddenly, Sirius stops, and Remus is given the chance to survey his surroundings: they are stood in an area abundant with trees, and it is pitch black and completely empty. It screams bad horror movie, and Remus is equal parts intrigued and equal parts anxious.

Remus turns to Sirius in order to ask something along the lines of 'where the fuck have you brought me, Padfoot?' but is stopped short when he sees Sirius' face. He looks... nervous?

'Right, Remus; I brought you here to show you something and I just need to get it out of the way as soon as possible, okay?'

Remus offers silent permission, and Sirius ambles agonisingly slowly to stand beside a tree, beckoning Remus over with a slight wave of his wrist. When Remus moves close enough to observe, he sees that...

The tree bears carvings.

_Hello, my name is Sirius._

That's it. Nothing else, just that simple declarative statement that has absolutely no context.

'Sirius, what the fuck?' Remus' face contorts into one of utter confusion and, admittedly, derision. Sometimes Padfoot is just so fucking _strange_.

Sirius is looking anywhere but at Remus, and the air suddenly becomes filled with an awkwardness that neither one of them has encountered in the other ever before.

"Remus," Sirius begins slowly, "I just want you to forget sensibility. I want you to forget every voice that is screaming in your head to do what is right, and I just want you to do what is right for you."

Remus continues to stare at Sirius in total incomprehension, and Sirius continues to stare avidly at the ground.

"Look, Moony, just..." Sirius trails off, and finally brings up his eyes to meet Remus'. "It's just that, well, sometimes when you do things, it makes me feel funny. Like last week, you had an ink smudge on your cheek, and this is a very common Moony-like idiosyncrasy, but it somehow made my insides feel... swirly."

Remus begins to wonder if Sirius is trained in Occlumency, and whether this is all some elaborate prank derived from Remus' inner-turmoil in order to garner maximum humiliation. But somehow, he believes that Sirius is genuine, and that maybe the Sirius that he is seeing right now is the most genuine one he's ever seen: no bravado for James, and no being an idol for Peter – just being Sirius; the boy that worries; the boy that cares.

'Look, Remus, I know we are mates – best mates – and that this could potentially ruin seven years worth of friendship, but right now I just want you to forget that and listen to me as if I were a stranger, as if I were someone you could imagine yourself lov-'

Sirius cuts himself short and draws in a deep breath. Remus remains silent, wondering where Sirius is going with this, and they stare intently at one another for a further few seconds.

"Remus, can I kiss you please?"

And isn't that please, that simple please that seeks meek permission, the most wonderful utterance ever to have been spoken?

And he doesn't wait for answer, and maybe it's because he sees the 'yes' in Remus' eyes before even Remus himself can acknowledge it, and maybe it's simply because he's _Sirius sodding Black_, but then he's tilting his head upwards towards Remus and gently pressing their mouths together. It is slight and hesitant, and it takes Remus by surprise. Neither one moves their lips, both awaiting the other's reaction before continuing, but then Remus' hand moves without his permission to tangle itself in the hair at the nape of Sirius' neck. And then there is movement; there is definitely movement.

It is still gentle and teasing and just so fucking _new_ and neither one wants to stop in case it breaks the spell of suspended disbelief that has firmly implanted itself into the situation. But Remus is Remus, as previously stated, and so logic tells him to pull away and face reality and its consequences.

Remus then catches a glimpse of Sirius' post-kissing face: his eyes are softly closed, his mouth glisteningly damp and partly open, and he looks like he's found his utopia. Remus predicts his face is likely to be holding similar denotations.

'Padfoot, I –'

Remus doesn't get to finish before he is interrupted by a hysterical and flailing Sirius.

'Oh fuck. Oh fucking fucking bloody fucking fuck. I knew I shouldn't have done that. I am so, so sorry Remus. I just – Oh fuck, I am an idiot for thinking you – _you _– could ever feel the same way about me as I do about you and -'

Remus stares in disbelief at this beautiful boy and wonders why it took him so long to realise that the swirly feeling did not only spell something wonderful, but that it also was not even slightly unrequited. Remus puffs out a short breath of laughter that ghosts over Sirius' face due to their still close proximity, and clasps his hands around Sirius' neck so as to tug him upward.

'Shut up, Padfoot and kiss me now, you great fucking poofter.'

Sirius' face morphs into one of disbelief, before a smile creeps its way across his face. They share matching grins as they simultaneously lean in.

He understands why now, and he wonders how long Sirius understood for before he did. But then Sirius presses his soft lips to Remus' once more, standing on the tips of his toes to do so, and Remus decides that it doesn't matter because they're here now.


End file.
